


Sunshine is Days Away

by OrdinaryBird



Series: Past is Gone, But Something Might Be Found [1]
Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Eventual Happy Ending, M/M, Polyamory, Pre-OT3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-13
Updated: 2015-03-17
Packaged: 2018-03-17 15:18:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3534308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrdinaryBird/pseuds/OrdinaryBird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Earl is a dutiful friend. Carlos, at a distance, is concerned. And Cecil is totally fine, don't you worry, never mind that limp. [A series of short pieces leading towards a happy understanding]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ancient History, Revisited

**Author's Note:**

> Story title comes from "You Wouldn't Like Me" by Tegan and Sara.
> 
> I have the feeling that, where this is going, it will be smacked out of continuity, but as of now I'm still planning to see it through because of Feelings.  
> (Also, I have this sneaking idea that a popular Night Vale activity is "find some rocks to sit on and stare at the stars and void and lights and whatnot".)  
> [NEW! IMPROVED! NOW WITH 50% FEWER TYPOS!]

“You should just go over there,” Josie said. “I’ve got him out bowling again but he needs to leave that apartment more. You know how he gets.” Earl looked back toward the very uncomfortable family dinner the phone call had pulled him away from.

Well, at the very least Earl remembered how he used to be, but the Old Woman had a sharp eye and saw no need to sugar-coat things. So he probably had the same fits of melancholy and isolation Earl grew up with. Even if he didn’t, his boyfriend was still in the middle of a damn desert somewhere, and if anything could provoke a fit of melancholy…

And that’s why he just sort of showed up in the apartment building, raising his hand to the door and then lowering it again, slightly scared to knock. He didn’t like just appearing somewhere because it was rude to put someone on the spot like that. But they were old friends and that should be enough warning, right?

So he knocked and waited.

There was rustling inside and the door opened a crack, chain still on. Cecil peeked out suspiciously.

“Oh. Uh, hi,” Earl said, startled. The half-face looked tired and wary.

“Hey,” Cecil said, before shutting the door most of the way. The chain rattled and it opened again, wider. “Sorry. What’s going on?” He leaned casually against the door frame, arms crossed. He was still in work clothes, barefoot, his tie loosened and the top button of his shirt undone.

“Wanna come get a drink with me? Or like sit on some rocks and look at the void and talk like we used to?”

The silence that followed was dense as a wheat-and-byproduct-free cake. Perhaps that was too abrupt. Were you supposed to lead up to these things? But after a tense moment, Cecil smiled at the ground, pinching the bridge of his nose and squeezing his eyes shut.

“That’s—really nice of you. Really. But I am just _absolutely_ wiped out right now, we’re short on interns at work so I’ve got a lot—”

“Listen. I get it, Cecil, I totally do.” Earl noticed his vision blurring slightly, the wall his friend leaned against slowly slipping in and out of focus. “Watching time contract and dilate in unknown and unknowable patterns, leaving you running to stay ahead, terrified to look back into the dim mirror of your past for fear of what you’ll see—”

“Earl—”

“—and the awful vigilance, knitting together scraps the past, wondering when you’ll be wrenched away from yourself and thrown into danger you can’t see, much less consent to, knowing the only illusion of control you have to cling to is the hope that someone is around to see and tell you what you’ve been doing—”

“—can you _not_ —”

“—then groping blindly in the dark across the expanse of a bed that is suddenly too big for one, reaching for the body you call home and finding only empty sheets, a cold pillow—”

“Earl if you were planning to make a point _could you please get there_?”

Earl blinked and shook his head fast. “Sorry. Anyway, I was just thinking maybe it would be good to take a night off from all of that. Reminisce. You know.”

Cecil sighed theatrically and uncrossed his arms with a flourish. “Fine, lemme just change real quick. I smell like sweat and sulfur. Come in.” He gestured to the counter on the way through the kitchen. “Coffee’s hot, help yourself.”

It was like 9:30, which was kind of late for coffee, but, well, this was Cecil. He poured a cup, found some sugar, failed to find any milk, and wandered in the general direction of the bedroom. Would it be okay to go in? He settled for a half-hearted knock on the slightly open door.

Cecil was half dressed and flopped on his back across the bed, with his head and most of his torso draped over the side.

“Are you okay down there?”

“Yeah. My back hurts.” He sat up and twisted. “Sometimes gravity helps, but I guess the gravity’s a little weak today. C’mere.”

He set his cup down and crossed the room. Cecil set his fist in the small of his back and Earl obligingly wrapped his arms around him just below that point. It’d been a long time since he’d helped Cecil crack his spine, but he seemed smaller. _Are you eating? Are you sleeping?_ He swallowed the anxious, protective questions, squeezed, and lifted Cecil about an inch off the ground.

There were a few crackling pops and a sigh. “Thanks.”

Earl drank his coffee quickly while Cecil finished getting ready. It gave his hands and mouth something to do while Cecil dug around the dresser for the other cat sock (which turned up in the nightstand drawer) and debated a light jacket in case it was chilly later.

“So,” Earl said, when he seemed to be almost ready, “where do you wanna go?”

After a thoughtful moment squinting at his reflection in the dark window and combing fingers through his hair, Cecil said, “Screw it, let’s just fill a flask and find some rocks to sit on.”

 

The walk was quiet. The flask of whiskey was heavy in Earl’s pocket, and suddenly he felt very young again, sneaking, getting up to mischief with his best friend, the stars and void overhead and the whole world before them.

Cecil hummed a bit to fill the silence, apologized a few times. “I haven’t been very good company lately.”

“That’s okay.” Earl shrugged. “I listen to the radio, you know. I hear about what’s going on.” And then, in the silence that followed, “you wanna talk about it?”

“ _No_.” The response was firm and insistent. “If you’re going to try and get my mind off of things we’re going to do it properly. I think about it all the time. I’m scared of trusting anyone, I’m scared of losing Carlos, I’m scared of waking up at City Hall dying and not even knowing what killed me—!” He cleared his throat suddenly. “I just want to drink whiskey with my friend and not have to think about any of that for a while.”

“Okay.” The walked in silence again, drifting in the direction of the sand wastes. The wind was picking up a little.

They found some agreeable rocks and sat. Cecil hugged his knees and stared into the distance. Earl discreetly watched Cecil. He sipped from the flask and handed it over silently, feeling the burn down his throat, feeling young again in a way that was safe and comfortable.

“Remember the first time we drank?”

Cecil made a face as he swallowed. “Oh god. Vodka that killed plants on contact.”

“But we sat in that tree and pretended we were tough.”

“A really hard illusion to maintain since we were chasing it with apple juice.” Cecil coughed softly against the back of his hand as he passed the cold metal back.

“…from juice boxes.” 

And there was a laugh, a real sincere laugh from Cecil, a rich solid sound, and Earl was very, very glad he’d agreed to Old Woman Josie’s plan.

After a moment, Cecil said, “Remember that scouting trip? The one with the blindfolds? What was it— ‘the eyes tell lies—’ “

“‘—but the nose usually knows',” Earl finished with him. “Yeah, we still do that. Trying to detect minute changes in each other’s auras by scent? And the Scout Master used you as the example—what did he call it?”

“Licorice flavored cotton candy. That’s what my aura smells like—licorice flavored cotton candy.”

“Did you ever smell mine?”

“I wasn’t sure. Let me think…it was like—like a campfire, I think. Or maybe that was just because we were camping. And were therefore near a fire.” He looked shyly at Earl. “I, uh, missed that badge.”

“And the Barricade Construction badge too. I remember.”

“Shut up.” Cecil pushed him lightly away. This was comfortable. This was safe. They were smiling real smiles and they were okay. “I killed it on the Subversive Radio Host badge, alright?”

"That doesn’t count! That was prophecy." Earl, whiskey and mischief warming his stomach, sipped from the flask again and added, in a low voice, “Louis. Chen.”

“Oh my god. Ohmygod _no_.” Cecil threw his head back and moaned toward the void, “My first love!”

“You’d never admit it though,” Earl went on. “You just suddenly became reaaaally interested in astral projection which he _just so happened_ to be into.”

“I’m still awful,” Cecil admitted. “God, I wanted him to like me so much but I just couldn’t get the hang of it. If anything good happens I get all excited and wake myself up.”

“So no astral dates with Carlos then, huh?” Earl asked, absolutely casually and with no little stab of _something_ in the chest region.

“Nah. It’s hard enough to schedule a phone call and I don’t constantly interrupt those when they get interesting.”

They were quiet for a moment. Less comfortable, but still safe.

“I’m sorry you miss him so much.”

“Yeah. Thanks.” Cecil sighed and stretched his legs. “Me too.”

They sat in silence again. Earl rubbed the back of his neck nervously.

“That was our problem too,” he said finally, looking carefully away. “At least I think so.” His eyes darted back.

“Oh?” Cecil looked at him, lower lip caught in his teeth and one eyebrow up. The look said _we had a silent agreement to talk around this for the rest of our lives because it is too painful_.

“Yeah. We, like, circled each other but never ended up in the same place at the same time.” _Okay_ , Earl decided in the pause that followed, _you may be right. This may have been a mistake_.

“But there were, like, three days where we had it together.”

And like a sudden blow to the stomach Earl realized—that was what he was sensing. He didn’t just feel young, he felt seventeen and lightheaded with the possibility of lingering looks on a long weekend they’d passed in a tent in Cecil’s yard, feeling his own heart thundering in his chest, seeing the wide nervous smile in the lantern light, pulled forward like a boy possessed, cutting his lip on braces and barely noticing in the aching joy of a first kiss—

But that was a long time ago and it was over now.

Cecil looked back up, craning his head to see the stars instead of straight void. “Somewhere out there,” he said slowly, “is a universe where—where we got things right.”

“And what about Carlos? In that universe?” Earl, tiptoeing through the verbal minefield, only realized the potential misstep after the words were already out.

But Cecil just shrugged. “Maybe he’s here too. On the rock with us, drinking whiskey and laughing, and you and I are each trying to remember a more embarrassing story about the other. And we sit out here all night, watching the sunrise together, holding tight for warmth and for stability and just—just the niceness of touch.” He swallowed more whiskey. He smiled at the distance.

And that was it. For Cecil, everything was that simple. In a way he was kind of like a child, or maybe a cat; without any malice, he oriented the world around himself, a benign center of the universe. It hadn’t occurred to him that the kind of relationship he’d described was unusual, occasionally frowned on. All he thought was _this would make me happy, and it would make you happy too and what else would matter?_

Earl was more practical, always had been, even in daydreams. How would that even work? What size bed would fit three people in relative comfort, especially since, according to Cecil, Carlos slept all spread out like a starfish, and he knew from experience that Cecil clung tight like a koala? More importantly, why was he thinking this through like it was even a vague possibility?

Because he’d said it so simply. Like it was already half true, like it was really possible. He wasn’t just sparing the feelings of an old friend, one who he’d passed a torch back and forth with for years, a torch that got left with Earl. Cecil was not particularly good at sparing feelings. So if he said something like that, he meant it.

He didn’t need to say _I could easily love you both_ , he assumed it was so obvious as to be understood. And that _ached_. Because after this moment, after this brief flirtation with the innocence of their younger selves, Cecil would stand up and stretch, listening to his back make crackling noises, and then walk home and that would be it. Like this never happened. The words would roll over and over in Earl’s head for ages but Cecil would just tuck it back in the box of might-have-beens and put it back on the shelf and carry on like this conversation hadn’t happened.

 

The flask was empty. The streetlights cast their sickly yellow glow on the two figures, silent and comfortable, as they entered the building.

“Thanks,” Cecil said, for the third time.

“Don’t worry about it.”

Cecil fumbled with his keys in the lock, then turned. “You shouldn’t drive right now.”

“I can walk from here, get my car tomorrow,” Earl said, sternly forbidding his heart to do anything silly like speed up or stop or sink to the bottom of his stomach.

“No you can’t. It’s too late.” Cecil got the door unlocked on the second try. “Come on,” he said, not turning around to see if he was followed.

 _This is not a good idea_ , Earl thought, but crossed the threshold anyway.

“Nothing, like—you know—nothing—” Cecil gestured vaguely around the room as though waiting for the appropriate euphemism to settle in his open hand.

“Oh no, of course not. Absolutely not.”

“You were right, you know. It’s a pretty big bed. I won’t even know you’re there.” Cecil sighed on his way into the bedroom. So they were sharing the bed after all. Earl swallowed hard and decided to hide in the bathroom.

He splashed water on his face, accidentally getting some on the old newspaper covering the mirror. _This will be fine. He’s a clingy sleeper and you’re having all these feelings right now and he is lonely and impulsive and you’ve both been drinking, but you can totally keep this friendly. Alternately, you can sneak out to the sofa after he falls asleep._

_Right. Go in there. See this terrible thing to its logical conclusion._

He was already asleep, wrapped around a pillow, smiling vaguely. Earl wondered if he still laughed in his sleep. He crept into bed fully dressed and watched the lights on the ceiling, determined to stay awake, blinking slower and slower until his eyes finally stayed closed.


	2. Everything is Fine

It was 6:47 pm (more or less) and Cecil was doing just fine.

He’d been fine on the way home, smiling, waving to people he knew from the car window. He’d been fine--whistling, even--when he strolled into his building and unlocked his door. He was fine right up until the door closed.

His keys fell from his hand. He was shaking slightly. He was afraid. Cecil rubbed his left eye hard with the heel of his hand, sucking in air through clenched teeth.

“Okay,” he said finally. “O _kay_.”

He took a longer shower than was strictly necessary, leaving his work clothes in a tangled pile on the floor of the bathroom. After a few minutes of trying to be fine, he sat heavily on the floor of the shower, his hair hanging wet and soapy over his face. On the floor he allowed himself to be not fine for a full minute, resting his forehead on his knees and squeezing his eyes shut. “No,” he whispered to no one, barely moving his lips, hoping he wouldn’t be overheard. “Please.” The words meant nothing, even if they could reach their intended audience.

He stood up and rinsed his hair and came out of the shower with a smile. Everything was fine. It was Thursday, and Old Woman Josie had sent him a text (more likely, dictated it to an Erika) to make sure he was coming out tonight. While he started the coffee pot he laughed to himself, thinking of the long, gangly NotAngel fingers patiently stabbing the keypad of a cell phone at Josie’s direction. 

He dressed quickly--those neat violet pants, which went really well with the league shirt, and bright striped socks. He winced when he leaned over to put them on and made a point of not lifting his shirt to prod at the bruises underneath. In the bathroom he combed and parted his hair before--

_oh no._

From the corner of his eye he noticed the aging newspaper falling away from the corner of the mirror. That was not good. That was not good at all.

Training his eyes carefully downward, he reached onto the shelf next to him and grabbed a roll of clear packing tape to reseal the hole. He stared at the drain and made the repair by touch alone. No sense risking it. Thankfully he caught it before anything could happen. 

If only the landlord had allowed him to paint it. Maybe he should ask again.

But now it was 6:48(ish) and there was nothing to worry about. He drank his coffee on the sofa, his feet stretched out, rereading an email from Carlos and smiling. Everything was great. He was carrying on just fine, just like he always did. He was (metaphorically) putting one foot in front of the other, he was (figuratively) standing on his own two feet. 

When he stood up (literally) he lost his balance, his vision blurred. The nearly empty cup tumbled from his hand and he staggered and fell.

He’d never noticed it happening before was it happening now was this nonono _please_

Cecil knelt on the floor with his eyes squeezed shut. He was alone. He was terrified. He’d been betrayed and used and this was too big, even for him, to lock away, he couldn’t do this anymore _it wasn’t fair_ \--

He sat up. He looked at the coffee spot on the carpet, the chipped mug with the blue cat, his own hands. He reached for the cup and stood slowly.

Right. Time to get out the door--last week he was late and got a some definitely huffy looks from the rest of the team. He found his keys and paused at the door, just for a second, closing his eyes and resting his head against the cool wood

 

and tried to open his eyes, to searing pain in his leg, tried to scream but it hurt to breathe and all he could manage was a yelp.

There was a clatter and running feet, and someone pressed something soft under his head. His left eye was open by now. The right field of vision was obscured.

A blurry redhead came into view from above, cradling his throbbing head. “You’re okay,” Earl insisted, in defiance of the evidence Cecil had observed to this point. “You’re fine. Try to breath slower. Or something.” He set Cecil’s head down very gently. “Do you have a first aid kit?”

“No.” Cecil’s words sounded like the hiss of a punctured tire and his ears were ringing. “What happened?”

“I--I don’t know.” Earl turned on the kitchen tap and raised his voice to be heard over it. “I just saw you lurching toward your apartment and you looked pretty awful. I tried to get you into my car but you just kept shoving me off you.”

“I do _not_ lurch.”

“Do you think I don’t know what lurching looks like? You were definitely lurching. I’d imagine it has something to do with this cut.” The water was shut off and Earl returned, sitting just outside Cecil’s visual focus. 

The damp towel stung on his leg wound and he jerked upward with a hiss, head spinning. He felt hands--a little abrasive, but gentle--ease him back down. He felt a sick, dense laugh bubble up through his aching chest but tears slipped down his cheeks and filled his ears. “I wonder,” he said, “what kind of trouble Dana got into this time.”

“Hmm?” Earl was clearly focused elsewhere, and Cecil heard fabric tearing, felt more soft, stabbing strokes of the towel. 

“I hope I didn’t bleed on anything important at City Hall,” Cecil went on, feeling hysteria creep out, unable to find the emotional hand break he relied on so much. 

“I don’t think Mayor Cardinal is responsible for this. Here, squeeze this and take a deep breath. This is going to sting.”

Yes it absolutely _did_ sting and the smell of rubbing alcohol filled his brain and he felt like his ears were stuffed with cotton balls, everything sounded far away and muffled. The hallway light overhead bobbed and weaved.

He felt something cool and wet on the back of his neck, fingers brushing his hair off his damp forehead. “You’re alright. Eyes open, Palmer, no passing out with the possible concussion.”

Earl only last-named him when things were serious. 

“So I wonder if the services of Lot 37 are being rented out now. Beats raising taxes, right?” 

“Cecil. Stop. Even if the mayor was responsible for--for this--” Earl’s gesture was clearly meant to encompass the whole loss-of-autonomy situation-- “I don’t see her being reckless with your life. She does care about you. I think you can trust her.”

“Can’t trust anyone.”

There was no response. 

“Apparently can’t even trust myself.” Cecil knew he should stop talking. He couldn’t. For the first time in as long as he could remember, there was no filter. No caution. The mythical Voice everyone was so fascinated by was running off without him. “I am so tired. I have tried so hard and done everything I was supposed to, I say what I’m told to say and I am a law-abiding citizen and it’s not good enough. There is one person I can trust because he’s not from this godforsaken black hole and he is _gone_ and I don’t think he’s coming back. I have one skill-- _one_ \--I am good at one thing and I am really, really good at that but I’m being moved around like a chess piece and I am not strong enough for this and I don’t want this I never asked for this--!”

He focused his eyes, as well as he could, on Earl’s face. Brows drawn together, the slight frown curling his lips. Split second glances at the light fixture, the doorknob, the broom closet. The unspoken message that they are listening.

“I don’t care,” he mumbled. “I want out.”

Earl leaned down very close to Cecil’s ear. “Cecil,” he whispered. “Listen to me. You’re one of the special ones, you know that. You have a bit of extra room because your voice is terribly useful and, like, prophecy and stuff. But how much room do you think you have?”

And then, darkly. “ _Are you trying to find out_?”

Cecil stared at the ceiling in silence while his leg was bandaged, accepted a bag of frozen peas wrapped in a t-shirt for his swollen eye. The yellowing bruises along his ribcage from the last incident were examined. He was helped into a sitting position, given water and aspirin.

“Okay,” Earl said finally, “how do I call Carlos? I mean, he should know about this, right? I tried before but your phone just got all hot and staticy.” 

“You can’t just call, you have to text him and wait to hear back.”

There was buzzing from the counter. Earl grabbed the phone, looked at the screen (and Cecil remembered suddenly what the contact picture was--him perched on Carlos’ back, pulling a face--and wondered what Earl thought of that), and answered, meeting Cecil’s eye as he hit the speakerphone button. Before he could say a word--

“Hey baby, what’s wrong, what happened? Are you okay?”

“Um, Carlos, hi. Sorry--”

“Who is this?” The icy suspicion of someone who’d lived in Night Vale for more than a week.

“It’s Earl. Harlan? I’m friends with--”

“Oh. Oh right, sorry. I read the text and just kind of assumed.”

“Sure. Yeah. Of course. But--I didn’t send a text yet?”

“Oh. Um. Make sure you do, otherwise things get...weird.”

“Right.” Earl cleared his throat. “Anyway Cecil is--is fine. I’ve got enough first aid skill to keep it together over here.”

“You said broken rib. _You said possible concussion._ Why aren’t you taking him to a hospital?”

“Have you ever been to Night Vale General?”

“No…”

“Yeah, um. Don’t. It’s usually not worth it. I’ll keep an eye on him.” 

A sigh. “Okay. Thanks. Really, thank you.”

“Hey, what friends are for amiright?” Earl rubbed the back of his neck and laughed a nervous little laugh in Cecil’s direction. “Want to talk to him?”

He passed the phone over without waiting for an answer, then bustled off into the other room, mumbling something about towels, but it was more likely an offer of privacy, with an undercurrent of _I won’t get in the way_. 

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Yes. Thanks. I’ll be fine.” 

“Okay. Does Earl know what he’s doing? I’m not a physician but I have a rough idea if you tell me--”

“No, I’m okay. And I don’t think any ribs are broken.”

Cecil paused. He felt oddly empty, scraped out. Not quite in the room. 

“You’re quiet,” Carlos said. “You’re never this quiet.”

“I’m--” Cecil swallowed hard. “I’m tired. I’m very, very tired.”

Carlos knew what kind of tired he meant. It was stare-at-the-wall tired, it was bury-face-in-a-pillow tired. And don’t-talk-about-it-tomorrow tired. “I love you,” he said, and Cecil thought he detected a bit of powerlessness behind it.

“I love you.” Cecil tried and failed to inject some life into his voice. “I’ll talk to you soon. Be careful!”

He set down the phone, then after a moment’s thought picked it up again to send the message. _Hurt. Please call. Maybe concussion._ Then, after a second, wincing as he adjusted his posture, _Maybe broke rib._

 

It was 7:15 am and everything was alright.

Cecil hummed while he made coffee, limping gallantly around the kitchen. He put some yogurt in a bowl and poured sugary cereal on top, the kind with the little marshmallow demons. Carlos had left him a few texts and a long email but he wanted to talk about whatever happened last night and Cecil had decided he wasn’t going to, and so he responded with as many emojis as it took to get that point across. 

He’d left Earl asleep in the bedroom. Last night he’d been half-carried to bed, wincing and shaky. After he’d been settled in, Earl got a chair from the dining room and sat, watching, promising to wake Cecil every few hours. And he had, at first, but that stopped around dawn.

So he’d stayed in bed for two hours, staring at the ceiling. There was someone else here but he was alone. Everyone knew him, everyone seemed to like him, but he was alone. It was his voice, this stupid voice. He said _don’t go near the dog park_ and they stayed away. He said _everything will be alright, trust your technically-elected officials_ and they sighed with relief. He couldn’t say _do you care at all?_ or _please help me, please someone do something_ because the answer would be the one he wanted to hear. Would it be the truth?

But Carlos wasn’t one of them. Sweet Carlos. Trustworthy Carlos, the outsider. Someone who wasn’t always listening, always waiting for instruction, following his lead without thought for as long as his he was creating sound. He’d asked countless times, folded in the warm safety of his arms, _do you really love me? Are you sure? Even when I’m not around? Even when I'm not smiling?_

And Earl was the first, wasn’t he? He’d followed Cecil around through their childhood, making mischief and climbing fences and protesting how they shouldn’t be doing this or that even as he did it. Cecil hadn’t realized what it was at the time, he was just glad of the company. They did everything together. He was the first of the Listeners.

Everyone else followed when Cecil was fifteen and he--

when everything changed.

Maybe Earl just saw it coming in advance?

He’d wanted to trust Earl so badly, wanted to lean on him, wanted to rely on him, but he was scared to stop talking. And it was so easy to let go of his filter with Earl. Because he generated a field of security. Throughout their childhood he’d just assumed Earl would be there at his side. But then he grew up. And the wall sprang up between him and the rest of Night Vale and he cheerfully pretended it wasn't there.

He allowed himself the luxury of just feeling for a while. It hurt, but it hurt like the rubbing alcohol on his injured leg. He wrapped himself around a pillow and cried a little, silently, carefully. He shouldn’t cry. It was so dangerous to let things out because what if you didn’t put it all back? 

And then he got up for work, smiling.

Over his breakfast he checked his bruised face in the phone’s camera. Pretty battered, but the swelling had gone down. But his work was almost exclusively auditory. So it would be fine. He texted a hollow but chipper apology to Josie. She wouldn't buy it but she wouldn't ask too many questions. She would understand.

He heard the careful footsteps behind him and turned. “Hi! Get some coffee and pull up a seat. There’s yogurt too.”

He waited until Earl sat before he looked up from his bowl.

“How’re you feeling?”

“Me? Oh, I’m fine. Thanks for looking after me, by the way. Shame about those purple pants though, I really liked them.”

Earl’s face registered something like disbelief. Apparently he was not currently following the magic voice. But all he said was, “Sure, any time. Keep an eye on that cut.”

There wasn’t anything more to say--well, nothing that could be said, not on a morning like this where everything was _absolutely okay_ \--so breakfast was finished in silence. Cecil cleared the dishes with a smile, trying to minimize his difficulty moving and refusing Earl’s offer of help. “You’re the guest, you’ve done plenty for me, relax and finish your coffee!” he said. What he didn’t say was _I always took your presence for granted and I’m so sorry_ or _I’m terrible and I don’t deserve whatever affection you have for me_ because there was no reason to say those things because everything was fine. He hummed while he washed up the dishes.

The silence was tense. Cecil decided not to notice that and set about unnoticing it immediately. So he didn’t see the movement until Earl was at his side, breathing in his ear. “Listen,” he whispered. “Whatever happens. Come to me, okay? If you get hurt again or you’re afraid--you find me. Okay?”

Cecil beamed at him and nodded.

“I know that you--what he means to you. I mean. I’m not trying to replace that. But if you need someone.”

“Thanks. Really, I appreciate it.” Cecil turned back to the dishes. His eyes dart toward Earl, who seems oddly defeated.

“Okay, so I’m gonna get out of here. Get a first aid kit, too.”

“Wait--!” Cecil turned, words staggering around in his mouth, trailing dish soap suds and water on the floor. He recovered and chirped, “Wait. Let me see you out.” And the door he grinned and wrapped his arms around Earl’s shoulders. “Thanks again.” He brought his lips next to Earl’s ear and whispered, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” This was not a good idea, he shouldn’t be doing this. “I want to trust you. I wish I could. I’m sorry.”

Earl pulled back, smiling, and landed a friendly but distant pat on Cecil’s shoulder. “It’s okay. I understand. See you around.” 

And he squeezed Cecil’s shoulder, opened the door, and was gone.


	3. Unknown Number

The buzzing of the phone jerked Earl awake so suddenly he nearly fell off the sofa. He’d dozed off watching The Twilight Zone, and it was nearly three in the morning.

An unknown number. _Oh no_. Personal experience and rumor and myth were giving him conflicting advice on the dangers of an unknown number in the small hours of the morning. What does one do? Answering it could get him pulled into something dangerous, but ignoring it might insult whatever was on the other end.

He decided to answer. “H-hello?”

“Okay but _listen_ ,” a voice said, one vaguely familiar. Rich and smooth. Carlos.

“How did you get my number?”

“Listen,” the voice said again, as though this wasn’t the beginning of the conversation. “You need to tell me what’s going on with Cecil.”

“Oh. Um. Is he not telling you?”

“The silence is telling.”

Earl cradled the phone against his shoulder and walked into the kitchen. This was going to take a bit. He pulled a can of cola from the fridge and hopped up to sit on the counter. “Okay. So what do you need to know?”

“I don’t know. I have no idea. He’s definitely scared and spends a lot of time pretending he isn’t. He’s alone way too much for such a social person. Sometimes he just wants me to stay on the phone talking at him until he falls asleep. I recite facts and formulas and elements, sometimes I sing to him, whatever. He doesn’t care as long as he’s not alone.”

“Do you know about the whole…” Earl gestured vaguely, swinging his feet. “The auction thing?”

“Yes,” Carlos said, tension increasing in his voice.

“Well I think that’s been weighing on him a bit. Do you know about what happens?”

“ _Yes_.” He heard a slight cough on the other end of the line, a cough that contained multitudes, expelling anger and disbelief and confusion. But all he said was, “So how dangerous is this?”

“By what standard?” Earl asked cautiously.

“Any standard.”

“Normal standards, very. Even by Night Vale standards it’s kind of an unusual risk.”

Cecil had always insisted that Carlos was gentle and understanding, a go-with-the-flow type. So it was some surprise when he burst out, “How is this acceptable? What the hell kind of town do you live in where ‘oh, possess a friend as a non-consenting body-guard’ is not only possible, but something you hear about on the radio from the possessed and _nobody does a goddamn thing_?”

“I don’t think people really think of it that way.”

“Why does he stay there? Why doesn’t someone do something?”

Earl inhaled deeply. “Thing you need to know about Cecil--thing you probably already know about Cecil--he’s basically a cat. Ninety percent of the time he thinks he’s the fiercest predator in the forest, completely capable of taking care of himself. He has no idea how much...how much he needs people. And I’m sure you’ve noticed he’s not...like people.”

“Definitely not.”

“He’s really bad at recognizing when he needs something. He has a really good mask, you know? And he even believes his own stories most of the time. So he carries on and on like everything is fine and then you get a call at two in the morning when he’s climbed the radio tower and you need to go talk him down and put him to bed and remind him that he’s important and loved.”

Perhaps he shouldn’t have shared that part. The silence on the end of the line crackled with fear.

“I didn’t know that. But I’m not surprised. How often does that happen?”

“Three, four times? I mean, since we were kids anyway.” Earl swallowed cola in a vain effort to get the dryness out of his mouth. “Not in a while.”

“I haven’t ever seen that.”

“Well, no.” There was an unpleasant anxiety shuffling around Earl’s stomach, but his voice was level. Level-ish, anyway. “You make him happy. He doesn’t need you to find him and let him know he’s precious. Just existing, you do that.”

“Oh.” He heard Carlos clear his throat. He swished the cola around the in can just for something to do.

He dropped it when he heard Carlos say, “so does he know you’re in love with him?”

A question without malice, without anger. An observation shared. Oh god. That somehow made it worse because he wasn’t jumping to conclusions in a fit of jealousy and loneliness. That mean he actually knew. _How? And when?_

“I mean…” but what was the point in being coy? “he kind of has to. There was a moment--like, a few days--when we were younger--we were just kids. But we never really worked it out. He got scared and I got mad and...” There was a bitterness he couldn’t be bothered trying to hide. “I got put into a box.”

“Can you clarify that point for me?”

****_Dark gods and glow cloud why is this happening to me?_ “It was--it was too much. He needed a friend, and not a close one, and certainly not one who was still harboring, you know, the feelings. So he carries on like he doesn’t know, like it never occurred to him. It’s come up once in the past--” but time was weird and hard to describe and he didn’t know how to do it anymore. “It’s barely come up.”

“But it’s come up recently enough to be something you’d mention.”

“Well yes but--” Earl huffed. “That wasn’t a clear logical connection, that was a guess!”

Silence.

“I’m not going to do anything.”

Still nothing on the other end.

“I wouldn’t. I am like pathologically incapable of hurting him.” He paused, waiting for Carlos to say something. Anything. Even to be angry. So he babbled onwards. “Even if you’re not here he’s still happy knowing you love him and I couldn’t--I would never do anything to take that from him.” And then, softly, defeated, “he could stomp me into the ground and I wouldn’t lift a finger. I know, pathetic, but still. He doesn’t mean to be cruel. How could I be cruel in return?”

Did the call drop? No, Earl could hear slow, steady breathing on the other end.

Because there was nothing else to say, he said, “I’m sorry.”

Carlos sounded small and tired on the other end. “You know what’s funny?”

“What?” Earl did not want to know. He pulled his knees to his chest and curled his back to fit under the cabinets above him.

“You’re the only one in that town I would trust with him, right now.” Carlos’ tone took on a scholarly distance, like he was discussing the care and feeding of laboratory rats. It was probably the distance he needed. “I feel like I should be threatened. You were there first. And there’s so much love there, so much understanding. In both of you. But I’m not. I’m thinking _yes, this is good_.”

Now Earl was the silent one, rubbing his eyes with the hand not holding the phone.

“But...I don’t think it would be good for you. Taking care of him.”

“I’ve always taken care of him!” That sharpness burst out on its own and Earl immediately regretted it.

“I can tell.” Carlos’ voice had softened. He was sweet. He barely knew Earl and he understood this. “I don’t think he knows. The effect he has. Or maybe he just doesn’t really understand it. Let me...talk to him a little. Okay?”

“And say what?” Defensive now. Earl did not appreciate his feelings going places without asking his brain’s consent and certainly not revealing themselves to a near-stranger in the small hours of the morning.

“I don’t know yet. I think this is going to be a long, difficult, rewarding conversation.” Carlos sighed. “Let me call him now.”

“Better not. It’s like 3:30 here.”

“Oh. Oh my god. I am so sorry,” Carlos stuttered. “It’s, like, midafternoon where I am. We aren’t really--you know--synced up.”

“I know. That’s okay.” It wasn’t okay. None of this was. It hurt in a way he was afraid to identify but he didn’t want to go into that now. Not with him. “I’m gonna...I’m going back to bed.”

“Okay. Sorry. Goodnight.”

Earl hopped off the counter and cleaned up the spill without thinking much. He tried very hard not to think at all. But he didn't sleep again that night. 


	4. We Finally Meet

“Wait _wait_ I’m sorry, I’m doing this backwards--!”

It may have been too late. Earl had reached forward and emphatically pushed his chair away from the kitchen table, clambered angrily to his feet. 

“No--stay? Please? I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Cecil stood too, hands tightening to sweaty fists at his sides, forcing himself through the intense eye contact.

“You’ve been sorry an awful lot lately,” Earl said, and his tone was harsh and distant and--sad? Hurt. That was it. _What wretched mess have you made of this?_

“I know. I am not my best self right now.”

He watched Earl rake a hand through his hair roughly, tensely. “This isn’t okay.”

“I know. Will you please sit down? And we can try this again? Except this time I won’t--do that?”

Earl was angry. His nose was wrinkled and his face red enough to hide the spray of freckles across his nose. When they were kids Cecil thought that was why he smelled a little spiced, that there was cinnamon sprinkled on his face, his shoulders, brought out by sun on his back. 

But he sat. “Look--whatever--whatever is going on between you and Carlos it is not fair to stick me in the middle of it.” 

“That wasn’t what I meant to do at all.”

“He called last night and--”

“I know. He told me.” Cecil sighed and leaned heavily on the table. He licked his lips and his mouth still tasted like uncomfortable, poorly-timed kissing and that wouldn’t do. He shoved himself upright again. “I am gonna--make some coffee. You want some coffee?”

He darted into the kitchen without waiting for an answer. His movement was manic; he spilled ground coffee on the counter, almost broke a mug. As he flitted about the kitchen he said, “I talked to him last night. You know how people can just talk so calmly about things, and your brain, like, subs in all the horrible things that could be lurking underneath the calm? It was like that. I thought he was done. With me. Like, I heard that calm and I assumed jealousy, anger, stuff like that?” The nervous laugh sounded stupid even to his own ears but he couldn’t stop. Spooning sugar into the coffee cups, he continued, “and then we talked about it all and he sounded kind of tense but then he _laughed_ \--”

“Talked about what?”

Cecil set the cup of coffee in front of him, watched him cringe when he sipped it. “Shit! Here.” He swapped the cups. “Sorry. I remember how much sugar you take but not what cup goes where, hahaha, silly me.” He was sweating and babbling. He cleared his throat.

“What did you talk about?”

“Oh, just--how things are going. Feelings and things.” _This was a terrible mistake oh god Cecil you cannot undo this._

Earl pushed the cup away and caught Cecil’s eye, again with an intensity he couldn’t look away from. “Cecil. Slow down. Start at the beginning. Pretend for a minute that you--” he stopped himself, pinched the bridge of his nose, looked away, looked back. Calmer. A little less bitter. “Just act like you still trust me.”

Cecil looked away. It only hurt because it was true, after all. He inhaled deeply and closed his eyes. “Okay. Remember--remember when I turned eight, and I got that awesome RC helicopter and I was gonna paint birds of prey on the sides and I was so excited about it?”

“Yeah.” Earl picked up his coffee cup and held it in both hands. That probably meant he was deciding to hear this out. “You crashed it into the side of my house, like, a day later.”

“Exactly. And that’s...kind of been the theme of my life since then. If I get excited about anything, I get careless. And then I break that thing. I leave a trail of destruction in my wake whenever I let my guard down.” He was careful to keep his voice even, matter of fact, willfully injecting just a bit of the Voice magic in an effort to mask the difficulty of saying it. “So I just don’t let my guard down.”

“Cecil, we have a lot of shared history. And that isn’t exactly how I’d characterize things.”

“Yes, but that’s what it _feels like_.”

Earl nodded. Cecil focused his line of sight at the spot just above Earl’s left shoulder. He couldn't handle eye contact, not again. “And I’ve realized, that’s what happened. When we were younger. I was so excited when you...with what happened. You know? And it was so totally innocent. You kissed me. We, like, spooned and looked at stars and I kept smelling you all weirdly.”

“I didn’t think it was weird,” Earl said softly.

Cecil pressed onward for fear of losing steam. “And then I thought, _how am I going to ruin this?_ And people had started to Listen to me, at that point. Not hear me, but Listen. You know what I mean? And I thought--what if--what if I’m making this happen? What if I want this so badly I’m influencing you, what if it wasn’t what you wanted at all?”

He risked meeting eyes again and regretted it immediately. Earl's expression had hardened just a bit, but still enough to take the wind out of him. “That’s really unfair.”

“Please don’t do that.” He’d wanted a statement, but all he could manage was a defeated whisper. Cecil felt himself curling inward, shrinking, tried to force his back straight. “You need to understand--this was what I thought. This is what I always think. When I say I can’t trust anyone, this is why. I told the town that I support Dana, that I care about her, and she might be steering me around to keep her alive _because I have accidentally convinced everyone that that is okay_. I have an effect on people. I have a gift. And I don’t want it anymore. 

“You were the first person who seemed to really be there. To listen to what I said. I didn’t know if that was because we were so close you felt the effect early or--or something else. But it was so hard to believe it was real.

“So after you started talking to me again, I just...carried on. And you never really brought it up, so I thought that meant none of it had really meant anything. That’d I’d done you a favor. Pulling back.” Cecil shrugged. “I probably was at that point. Doing you a favor, I mean. I was such a mess.”

“The only reason I didn't say anything was because you didn't. You just seemed so...bright. So carefree. You always do.”

“I made myself feel that way, too. I had to. Especially with you. You were the _constant_ , Earl. You stuck around. When I tapped on your window at midnight you snuck around and opened the door. You stopped me from following shady lovers out of town. You--you stopped me from making a lot of terrible choices. You were the only one I could show any vulnerability to. Even when you were gone I just sort of strutted onward, on the assumption that you would be back. It didn’t occur to me that those creepy mute children had dragged you off for good, because I couldn’t imagine you not being there. So I decided it wasn’t forever. And then...there you were. Things were different--so, _so_ different--but that didn’t matter because it was you.”

He paused. He knew the question that would come next, he didn’t want to answer it. But he waited for it anyway.

“What about Carlos?”

Cecil shrugged again. “It was the same kind of safety. But I knew he could actually hear me, process the things I said. You know why I kept hoping, even when he refused to show any personal interest? That’s how I knew--that it would mean something. If it did happen. He didn’t hear me intone my love and show up at my door with flowers. _He_ thought about it. _He_ decided.”

“And you didn’t think that’s what I did.”

“How could I? This was the first time I’d ever seen that, known what it was like. And in my defense, I would like to remind you that we were both seventeen and neither of us had the first idea what we were doing.” 

Earl bit his lip, turned his eyes to the ceiling. 

“Anyway--the conversation I had with Carlos--he thought maybe we should...work something. Out.” 

The pause that followed seemed to last a decade. 

“What.” Perhaps Earl had intended that to be a question, but it definitely flattened on the way out. 

Cecil looked at his hands, clenched in his lap. He shouldn’t have said anything. He should have just let go, pretended it was okay, kept smiling. “I can’t keep pretending things aren’t there. Aren’t real. You spend a lot of time pretending you don’t see or you don’t care, and that’s how you lose things. I’m scared of losing things. Terrified.”

“Losing what?”

Cecil looked up, feeling helpless, overwhelmed, and more than a little frustrated. But Earl’s expression was clear. He needed to hear the words, out loud.

“You, you jerk.” 

Silence. Now Earl’s face was entirely unintelligible. 

“You, Harlan. Okay? Is that sufficiently direct?” There was heat rising in Cecil’s cheeks and he was struggling to keep himself under control. “I mean really, I was stupid enough to kiss you basically the second you came in the door, how could you _not know_ where this conversation was going?”

Earl was silent for a second. He sipped his coffee thoughtfully, although it was probably already cold. 

Finally, he said, “and he’s okay with this?”

“Yes. If you are. And if I am. And if I don’t manage to screw it up if it does happen.” He kept talking, trying to avoid the silence he knew would follow, scared of what Earl would have to say. He felt terribly exposed. “Monogamy is largely socialized, did you know that? Most creatures don’t mate exclusively for life. And actually as long as there’s healthy communication there are all kinds of relationship structures. Different relationships meet different needs and there’s this thing he read once that he told me all about--”

Earl was shaking his head. “No. Not like this.”

The words fell like hailstones, cold and stinging. So that was it, then. It was too late to go back. He’d crushed something else in his eager, selfish, grasping fingers, and all there was to do now was sit back and watch the dust float away.

“There’s too much. You’re the most impulsive person I have ever met. It doesn’t feel like you plan anything. And I plan everything. You know that.”

Cecil nodded. His throat felt stuck together and his ribs were squeezing his lungs. 

“I can’t just dive into this. We’d have to start over.”

Well that was unexpected. He wasn’t sure where to go with this. He’d spent so much time worrying about a rejection that he hadn’t realized how frightening acceptance could be.

He considered just backing away, going to sleep, waking up tomorrow feeling fine...and not having Earl there at all. Their connection couldn’t survive this. Nothing would revive it if he didn’t do something, right now, to take that frightened, vulnerable tension out of the room.

He extended his hand, palm up. “Hi. I’m Cecil. Cecil Palmer.” It seemed as good a start as any.

Earl blinked at him, half smiled, hesitant. “I’m Earl. Harlan.” 

He placed his hand in Cecil’s palm, and Cecil covered it with his other hand, stroking the pale, freckled skin. “At last,” he mumbled. “At last, we finally meet.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I shamelessly reference Revolutionary Girl Utena in the closing line? Yes. Do I feel bad about it? Not in the slightest.


	5. Scenes from a Courtship

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is where we go off the rails and leave cannon in the dust.  
> Also, this story functions on a weird headcannon of mine that Carlos is fluent in ASL and that the Giant Warrior Friends also sign.
> 
> (I'm working on another chaptered story to follow this if people are interested, please feel free to comment if you're down)

Earl learned one very important lesson: Cecil still could not cook. He was invited over for “something casual, yeah, low key. You know,” and reached the apartment to find a strong smell like burned popcorn and brimstone, a sink full of dark, soapy water, and an oven mitt that looked like it had been chewed. 

“Oh, no,” Cecil insisted, waving off Earl’s offer of help with a slightly mauled potholder, “it’s fine. Can’t all be sous chefs, eh?”

So they had scrambled eggs and toast for dinner, with a fairly decent red wine, then watched a movie. It was so much like before, when they were young, at least to Earl. He spent a lot of time peeking at Cecil from the corner of his eye, hearing the weird goose-noise he made in the back of his throat when he laughed really hard, watching him bite his nails at tense moments. 

But he wasn’t seventeen anymore, and there was an understanding now. This was the first toe in the water. 

With the gentleness of a drifting feather, he placed his hand on top of Cecil’s. . 

Cecil said nothing, and didn’t look back. But Earl could see him swallow hard in his periphery. His hand turned over under Earl’s and he intertwined his fingers, not tightly, but comfortably. His eyes flicked in Earl’s direction, then darted back to the screen. 

Then he shifted, tucking his feet under him and leaning closer. He may as well pretended to yawn while stretching an arm around Earl’s shoulder. 

Cecil saw him to the door after the movie, laying a soft kiss on his temple on the way out. “See you...soon?”

“Yeah. Sure. Soon,” Earl said. He was able to maintain a suave smile until the door closed, at which point he let the foolish grin off the leash.

 

Everyone else had gone home, and even Station Management seemed to have slunk off to the far corner of its impossible office. Perhaps it did sleep after all. There was kind of an office betting pool about that but the last time they tried to find out the Intern was vaporized three steps from the door, and now no one could remember their name or what they looked like.

Most of the lights were off. The halls were mostly silent. The equipment made staticy humming sounds as he pulled the little covered bowl out of his bag. He crept to the men’s room and locked the door behind him.

“Hi kitty!” he said, hopping up to sit on the side of the sink. Khoshekh yawned and stretched. “Did you have a good day, baby boy? I bet you did. _Yesss_ youdid~”.

The cat retracted his spines and started purring, butting his wee little head affectionately against Cecil’s outstretched hand. Cecil opened the dish and presented the chicken livers he’d been saving.

“Your daddy is a terrible fool, yes he is,” Cecil cooed in the same sweet tone. “He’s just a great big silly fool.”

He sighed. His ribs were still a little tender but he hadn’t (as far as he could tell) been piloted into mortal peril in at least a week. He set the empty bowl down next to him.

“What if something happens to me? Who will take care of you?”

Khoshekh was a cat, of course. He didn’t know what was being said to him, he heard tone and felt attention and gave simple, infallible love in return. But Cecil didn’t think it was a coincidence that this was the moment Khoshekh chose to slink to his shoulder, rubbing on him. _No_ , the rubbing said. _Mine_.

“Earl could feed you,” Cecil mused, scratching that little spot under the chin, just between the venom sacks. “He’s not allergic. And he likes kitties. He’ll bring you little treats from work. He’ll find all the little places you like to be scratched. You’d get on just fine, wouldn’t you baby, yes you would, you’re my good boy.”

_No_. Khoshekh rubbed against his face, leaving cat hair clinging to his lips. 

He sighed. “What am I doing, kittypuss? Is this all some terrible mistake?”

Khoshekh had no response. Of course not. He was a cat.

“I could lose both of them,” he said. 

Khoshekh swatted gently at his nose, as if to say _stop that_.

“I could.” Cecil sighed and pulled the floating feline close to his chest, rubbing his nose in the soft fur of his back. “I could. But I shouldn’t be such a pessimist! It could be fine. It could be better than fine, right?”

Khoshekh casually lifted a foot and started cleaning between his toes.

“And then you’d have three daddies. And that would be a lot of affection for you, wouldn’t it, little boy? Sooo many skritch-scratches for Khoshekh.”

The cat said nothing. And Cecil had nothing more to say. 

But he smiled.

 

“So you’re sure this is okay?”

Carlos smiled, shading his eyes with his arm and leaning against a rock. “Yes, Earl. Cecil and I talked this through thoroughly and decided it was something worth exploring.”

“You’re really sure?”

“Yes. And when you ask again the next time we talk, the answer will be the same.”

“You’re really good for him, you know that?” Earl said. “I can see that. This patience. Understanding. That’s what he needs.”

It sounded to Carlos like that was something Earl needed as well, but he wasn’t sure it was his place to say as much. “Well, it’s not all he needs. It’s not all anyone needs. But thank you. So has the possession thing happened again?”

“No.”

“How’s he doing with all that?”

“He says he’s fine, he barely wants to talk about it. But he asks how long things take, or if my memories match his, which is really good.”

“Wait, how is that good?”

“He usually just, like, gives up. Do you have any idea how many times he’s been in situations like this, where things are completely out of his control? He’s at least trying to stay alert this time. He hasn’t just given himself over to it.”

“And he hasn’t tried to jump off the radio tower,” Carlos added. “...right?”

“What? Yeah, no, no climbing tall structures or anything like that. So whatever you’re doing to help, keep doing it!”

“A lot of it is his own doing. And I'm sure you've had a hand.”

Earl was silent on the other end of the line. Carlos absently-mindedly reached into his pocket and started pinching out bits of sand. Damn stuff got everywhere. “But you’ve been really good for him in general. Connecting to people. Talking about a future that might be different from the present.”

“And you don’t think you had anything to do with that?” 

“What, me? I was gone for--for--a length of time, and by the time I was around again, so were you.”

Carlos found himself increasingly surprised at the similarities between Earl and Cecil, and it was more than just shared history, more than just the sort of collective post-traumatic stress of having survived to adulthood in Night Vale. They both needed things they were terrified of seeking. Cecil pushed everything away, hid, feared the validation he craved so much. But Earl seemed to turn himself inside out, giving everything he could in an attempt to earn affirmation, affection. 

Had it occurred to either of them that just existing made them worth enough?

Carlos wasn’t sure he’d have a way to explain any of that right now, or that Earl would even trust what he said. “All I’m saying is, you shouldn’t sell yourself short. He sounds better on the phone now, when I talk to him. Has things to talk about other than the cat and his niece. He says he’s sleeping through the night again. It’s good that you’re there. Like, really present.”

There was a small gasp. “I--I’m not trying to replace you,” Earl finally stuttered after a moment.

“And I was never trying to replace you,” Carlos countered. 

“Yeah but you didn’t even know I existed.”

Carlos scratched his chin and crossed his legs at the ankle. Doug and the dog were playing fetch on a distance hill, their tremendous footprints shaking the ground he reclined on. “Well,” he said, “that doesn’t matter, really. I think we’re all learning some really important lessons about healthy relationships right now.”

“Whatever you say,” Earl said. “You’re the smart one.”

 

It was an adorable picture. He was winking, tongue poked out just a little bit, dressed in his bizarre best. Carlos saved it, liked he’d saved almost all of the others. 

His face was still a little bruised. Carlos would have to talk to him about his nutrition to promote optimal healing. It crushed him, that that was all he could do. He couldn’t even express all of his concern for fear of shutting down the conversation in a stream of I’m-fines and it’s-okays.

He turned to Doug, sitting on the hill beside him, and laid the phone in the massive palm that was offered to him. Doug raised the screen to his face and squinted, then smiled. He handed it back gently, imitating Cecil’s face.

_You okay?_

_So-so_ , Carlos signed back, pulling a face. _Miss him. And I’m scared._

_Of what?_ Doug instinctively scanned the horizon at the hint of threat. _Can I help?_

_He’s in danger. It’s a frightening place. And he lacks...decision-making skills._

Doug nodded and gestured towards Alicia. _I have no idea how you do it. Couldn’t imagine them not being by my side for a year._

_It’s rough. But we’ve both got things to do. It’s fine._

Doug nodded again. _His boyfriend?_

_Maybe not boyfriend. Yet. But Earl is...helpful. Respectful?_ His sign was a little rusty and he struggled for the proper word. Finally, he fingerspelled “necessary”, which was as close as he could manage.

_Good_. With almost exaggerated care, Doug reached out a long finger in Carlos’ direction. Carlos grasped the end with his hand. This was the safest form of contact, given the size difference. Carlos figured it was roughly equivalent to a shoulder pat or a friendly hug. _I’m here if you need me._

His friend thundered to his feet, waved cheerfully as he walked away. After some thought, Carlos opened his camera application and blew a kiss at the little lens. 

The response was almost immediate, and it was a solid eight by eight square of heart emojis, followed by a kissy face.

Yes. Everything with Cecil would be fine. If they-- _already using collective pronouns_ \--could just keep him upright and alive, if he maintain good communication, things would be fine. Earl was still a bit of a mystery, but a benign one. Even now, as an adult with a career, he radiated the eager nerves common of every Boy Scout Carlos could remember from his childhood. 

He didn’t like his position; he was powerless, out here, to do anything more than listen. He was learning a lot, sure, a lot that might help them find a way to each other, and also just a whole lot of neat things about sand. But getting information second-hand from home, piecing together Cecil’s frantic optimism and sudden descents into panic and Earl’s attempts to communicate without stepping on toes made it difficult to construct a coherent narrative on which to base his plans.

Carlos did not have much power here. But they--the _they_ he formed with Earl--might have enough power to do something positive.

 

Cecil filled the glass at the tap, drumming his fingers quickly on the counter. “Do you think you lost anything?”

“No. At least I don’t think so.” Earl rubbed his head and accepted the water and aspirin with a grateful smile. “It was just a little one. Routine, I think.”

“Is there such a thing? Routine re-education?”

“There is if you work with food or children, and I wanted to stay qualified for both.”

Hmm. Odd. Cecil realized again, with some shame, how often he forgot the privileges of his own professional life. He only had to worry about possible re-education if his yearly physical went awry. Sure, it was a thorough scrubbing that would leave him distant and partially blind for a few days, but at this point he was good enough at mental acrobatics to avoid it most years.

“Okay. You can stay here tonight. If you want. No pressure.”

Quiet descended on the table. But their silences were getting more comfortable, easier, and Cecil didn’t feel compelled to fill it with anything in particular. The record player in the corner started up on its own. Buddy Holly, the sentimental old thing.

“Hey,” Earl said, running his finger around the rim of his glass, “do you still dance ever?”

“Oh, no, not in years. Not really. How did we even learn, anyway? Weird pastime for a couple of kids, right?”

“Rec center classes, remember? I was trying to impress a girl and I made you come with me.”

“Oh, _riiiight_ ,” Cecil said, a grin spreading across his face. “And you were all annoyed because I was a much better lead than you.”

“You absolutely were _not_ ,” Earl said. “I was an excellent lead. I totally would have wooed that girl...if it weren’t for the library thing.” He scratched his nose. “What was her name? Mary? Maggie?”

“Whatever. Doesn’t matter. I was still better.” Cecil raised a mischievous eyebrow.

“No, you _weren’t_.”

“You missed steps. You stepped on toes. No one else would dance with you because you stepped on so many toes. I’m lucky I have any toes left at all.”

“That is a blatant fabrication.” Earl lept to his feet. “C’mere.” He grabbed Cecil’s hand from the table and pulled him close.

So apparently symptoms of “routine re-education” included mild headaches and decreased inhibitions. Cecil filed that detail away for later consideration.

Earl slid an arm around his waist and grabbed his hand, steering them around the kitchen quite well, if a little rigidly, for a verse. He pushed Cecil outward and twirled him back, leaning to catch him in a very slight dip. “Tell me I don’t know how to lead.”

“Wait, switch,” Cecil insisted, “let me show you how it’s done.” He tried to maintain a respectful distance, but that wasn’t possible if he was going to create enough flourish to show his prowess. He spun to Earl’s back, and he was himself impressed at maintaining the steps with a face full of Earl’s soft copper-colored hair. “See? Yeah. That’s leading.”

“Shut up.” Earl pushed Cecil out again, ducked gracefully under his arm, and yanked him back, pressed flush together. 

“Distracting me to prove your point is not good form, Earl. This is a competition of skill. It isn’t fair to use your wiles.”

“If either of us have wiles, it’s you.”

“I disagree.” Cecil pulled away, clasping both of Earl’s hands in a complicated effort to reclaim control without breaking step.

“And you are wrong. You wiley creature.”

Cecil sighed theatrically. “Whatever you say, if you need to soothe the burn left by my superior skill.”

But the song ended, replaced by a slow, bright love song. There was a moment of recovery before Earl, to Cecil’s delight, momentarily submitted to follow. “Do you dance with Carlos?”

“Not much. He gets the steps down alright but he’s so mechanical, spends the whole time looking at his feet,” Cecil said. “It’s kind of cute, actually. But I think it makes him nervous. He’s the kind of person who likes to be good at things.”

“And I’m sure you can’t relate to that at all.”

“I told him not to worry about it, that no one can even see us!” Cecil went on, choosing to ignore the interjection. “He just doesn’t like it. He doesn’t like karaoke either.”

Earl shrugged. “Well, if you had everything in common it would be one hell of a boring relationship.”

They rocked in silence for a second. Cecil debated. He wasn’t good at moving slowly, and things had been practically glacial. Was this too early?

“Hey--” he said finally, and changed his mind almost immediately.

But it was too late. “Yes?”

“I--I am going to kiss you. Is that alright?”

“Yes.”

The response was sudden. He hadn’t expected that. Sure, Earl was disinhibited by the brain-scrub, but he didn’t even think about it for a second. “Are you sure? Because I don’t want you to feel. I dunno. Weird”

Earl leaned back and stared at him a moment. “We are having a barefoot dance fight in your kitchen. We’ve already passed weird.”

“Are you coherent enough to consent?”

“Yes, Cecil, would you please stop--”

“Are you really sure though, because--”

But he was silenced by a fast movement, the hard pressure of closed lips on his. The structure of their posture sort of fell apart and he was backed against the counter. He didn’t know what to do with his hands. Shoulders? Chest? Waist seemed too intimate but very tempting. He just kind of kept them back against his own chest.

This was definitely agreeable. 

Earl pulled back after a moment, breathing hard, his forehead pulled into a nervous wrinkle. 

“Cecil,” he mumbled, “you missed a step.”

Cecil reached towards Earl’s face gently, a little scared to touch him. His hands slipped around the back of his neck and into his hair. “Shut up.”

 

Earl listened to the radio while he worked. By now no one asked questions about his small, blushy smiles while he piped buttercream or chopped onions. Cecil didn’t talk much about him, but Carlos sure did when he called or projected in. It was like he couldn’t help his innocently obscene innuendoes. Letting their barely-guarded flirtations explain the situation was easier than addressing the rumors himself. And anyway, Cecil’s deep, soothing voice had a calming effect on the relatively skittish line cooks.

It was midafternoon and he was helping break down chickens for the dinner service. It was a clear, bright day. 

“And finally,” Cecil intoned from the tiny speakers, “the City Council would like to remind you that everything is fine. We’re all going to be alright. You don’t have to worry about that odd smell coming from the shower drain, or the wisps of smoke from that old air conditioner that isn’t even plugged in. Just go about your day! It’ll take care of itself. In the end, everything always does. One way or another.”

_Oh, that’s good to know._

“And now, the we--” there was a pause. “Hey. Hey! Excuse me, we’re on the air here, you can’t just--”

Earl looked up, frowning at the tiny speakers, wiping a slick hand on the dish towel on his shoulder. 

There was a crash like breaking ceramic, and a soft mumbling. “Oh my--”

And then, laughter. “Oh my gods. All hail, what are you--”

Another voice, thick like cool honey, cried “corazon!”

Earl dropped the knife in his hand, didn’t hear it clatter to the floor. Everyone in the kitchen watched him, his face growing hot.

“What are you doing here, how did you get here?” Cecil asked, his voice pitched high in excitement, muffled slightly against something. A face, a shoulder? His own giddy hands?

“Oh, it is such a long story--”

“Why don’t you tell us all about it. But first--Charlie, can you cue the Weather?”

A female voice stammered “uh--I--Cecil--!”

“Charlie,” Cecil hissed, “cue the fucking weather.”

Earl smiled, distantly. This was the best possible outcome, right? Yes. This was good. He picked up his knife. He felt the line cooks watching him shyly as he washed it in the sink.

Yes. This was good.

He continued butchering chickens with a grim determination.


End file.
